Alice of Human Sacrifice
by Mirror Of Words
Summary: Somewhere, there was a tiny dream. Such a tiny dream it was, no one knew who had dreamt it. The tiny dream began to think. "I don't want to disappear this way. How do I get people to dream of me?" The tiny dream thought and thought, and then came up with an idea. "I'll make humans get lost in me, and let them create the world."
1. Prologue

**Title: **Alice of Human Sacrifice

**Full Summary: **Somewhere, there was a tiny dream. Such a tiny dream it was, no one knew who had dreamt it. The tiny dream began to think. "I don't want to disappear this way. How do I get people to dream of me?" The tiny dream thought and thought, and then came up with an idea. "I'll make humans get lost in me, and let them create the world."

**Rating: **M

**Image: **Pixiv (Id: 1972833)

Welcome everybody to my first multi-chaptered fic! -cheers-

Anywho, this is (obviously) based on the song **Alice (of) Human Sacrifice**, and at certain points on the creepypasta based on said song, **The Alice Killings** (and no, no matter what you tell me, it is not real). As such, it **will **contain themes such as **gore, violence, mental instability, **and possibly **sexual themes **(if such, it will be implied, because, frankly, I can't write em). Just putting that out for you. If you're uncomfortable with that, you're free to hit the back button. If not, welcome to the dark side. We have cookies.

For convenience, there will be alerts before each chapter. The prologue (this chapter) has none.

Thanks seeyeen for typing this out for me.

* * *

**Prologue**

It was a mere dream, weaved upon a human's peaceful slumber.

It was nothing much of significance, really. It was not like that of other dreams, filled with vivid images, mesmerizing, capturing the hearts of all that had dreamt it. Charming, mysterious. But it was not like that. It was an empty dream, a tiny dream, a bare plain, filled with nothing but vast emptiness, vast silence.

Nothing.

It did not know who had dreamt it. No-one knew. It was a lonely dream, nothing in the midst of its arms, nothing within its nonexistent embrace. It idled, for it had nothing to do, not a chance to display the brilliant it had yet to bear.

But all dreams would disappear.

Those dreams with a hint of significance, when they disappeared, they would leave behind a form of remembrance, whether the dream be of utter horror , or pure delight; it was one that the dreamer would always call upon, and even if the dreamer did not, the dream would still be snug within the depths of the dreamer's memories, still existent in some form, even if it had been lost in thought by everyone else.

But what would empty dreams leave behind? They was nothing of worth to them. Empty, tiny dreams left nothing behind. They would fade, just as all insignificant things would, one way or another.

And it did not want that, did it?

It began to think. Most dreams did not, but it did. Thinking provided a sliver of hope to it, helped it find another way, another hope.

_I don't know to disappear this way_, it thought, and with its thoughts, a new world began to weave itself. Colours flowed upon the land, like bottles of paints overflowing onto an empty canvas; needles spun themselves into existence, and began to do so for the vast sky, wearing the sky into a flurry of intangible colours. Slowly, but steadily, a world began to form itself. _How can I make people dream of me?_

As the little dream thought to itself with morbid fascination, dust formed by the travelling wind began to gather, spiraling itself into solid shapes, bunching together and allowing itself to be dyed by the white to create bones; soft strands of pink twirled around the white, knotting with each other, layer upon they bunched.

The tiny dream thought and thought, as it manifested itself; when its mind began to form itself, a true "consciousness", a thought of brilliance appeared, something that had never seemed so splendid; it recognized the thought as an "idea".

As the many needles descended from the sky, spiraling themselves upon the steady, manifesting form of the dream, which acted as a form of "consciousness", and pierced through the many forming layers, one by one gifting, the dream with more significance than all the dreams could have imagined with its primitive consciousness, it thought to itself, with something its consciousness informed it was a "smile"- an expression of pleasure, of friendliness –

"I'll make humans get lost in me, and let them create the world."

* * *

**A/N:** How was it? This is just an introduction chapter, so its pretty short. The next will be longer, trust me.

This was planned to be uploaded later, originally, but I started slacking off at writing this (as of now only three chapters are complete, including this) so this is an effort to get my butt moving. -sweatdrop-

Please review! Thank you!


	2. The Jack of Spades

**A/N:** Welcome to Chapter One of AoHS! I actually wanted to redo this chapter, but meh. I'll stick with this for now. Enjoy :)

...alright I lied it wasn't as long as I'd expected it to be. ^^; don't kill me.

Warnings... Blood, gore, violence, slight hint of cannibalism, possible occurrence of seizures... All that good stuff.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Jack of Spades**

…

…

"… huh?"

...

She met with the sight of inky darkness.

" - what the hell…" she muttered, raising a hand up gingerly to rub her tired, bleary carmine eyes. She felt herself lying on roughness, a jagged surface, but not in an uncomfortable sort of way. Her idle hand clenched the surface beneath her, and she come in touch with withered grass and crumbling, dry soil.

With a small amount of effort, she pushed herself upright so she was in a convenient position. She glanced at her surroundings; it was an odd place, she was in, of a barren field, and, a distance away, she spied a bundle of deep green trees. A forest, perhaps? She turned to look behind her; there was nothing but distant hills and grassy... grass.

She groaned, bringing a hand up to rub at her temples; her hand throbbed uncomfortably. The obligatory _Where the hell am I?_ surfaced into her mind, and she took a moment to ponder on that.

… nope. Nothing of significance popped into her mind.

"Great," she muttered profanities under her breath, and decided kneeling on dead grass would do her no good. She stood up, wobbling, but soon regained her stability. She glanced down the horizon; only the thought heading towards the forest appealed to her, so she decided that was where she would start off. It was quite a distance, for someone like her, so she decided she would rack her brain for answers on the way.

Let's see … she tried to grasp at her recent activities, and tick them off one by one. Any other day, she woke up, did the usual, headed to her restaurant to make sure her employees did their jobs the way they should. Somewhere along the day, her close friend Yukari had called her and invited her to some party or another to get her hooked up – pfft, men always groveled under her feet, who was she kidding – but she accepted, anyway, since it was a Saturday and the restaurant closed earlier on Saturdays.

The rest was equivalent to fuzz, the woman realized. She must've went too hard on the sake. Oh, that's right… she was so hammered, Yukari asked to send her home, despite living two mere blocks away. She had declined, of course, no reason to trouble her friend for such a matter. Then she left, stumbling over nonexistent obstacles and practically clawing at the walls of buildings for support, then…

Then… what?

Her mind hit a dead end at that. She sighed to herself, reaching a hand out to comb through her hair –

Hmm?

The brunette stared upon the simple, yet intriguing symbol of a black spade on the back of her right hand. Huh. Did she get that in the party? She asked herself, rubbing at it furiously; it only left her hand sore, not doing anything to the odd symbol, seemingly imprinted onto her hand.

"The hell is this…?" she thought to herself; figuring it would leave with a little liquid, she spat onto it, and rubbed at it with the sleeve of the brown coat she wore.

- Didn't she wear a dress to the party?

The thought made her stop to think for a few seconds; not that her train of thought came up with anything. She was getting annoyed now, with all the questions and the lack of answers. What's worse, the stubborn symbol did nothing to fade.

She growled, and decided to ignore the persistent mark for the time being, going back to her little walk to the forest; it was beginning to turn tedious. She distracted herself with other things; upon closer inspection, the sky was more of a … sickly purple than anything. Magenta, maybe. She didn't know. A deeper shade of Yuka's hair, she supposed. What she did know, however, was that she had reached the forest; she was right before a poorly-crafted wooden sign which was right before the forest. Beside the sign, however, was something worth of remarkable praise: a sword, if she were not to be mistakened, crafted beautifully and finely, with the sharpest skill, the blade with red vine-like indentations reflecting all that stared back at it, the handle a fine mahogany shade. She found it hard to believe she stood before it, basking in its brilliance before the remarkably idiotic thought of trying it for herself nagged her – what she could tell Yuka!

Why not, then? The usually level-headed woman thought, reaching a hand to grab the hilt firmly, the hilt feeling firm and filling her with confidence at a mere touch. It took her two hands to pull the firmly-lodged sword out of the ground; she stumbled backwards upon doing so, fear shooting though her for a moment at the possibility of harming herself with it; thankfully, she did not. The thrill of welding a sword, however, did prompt her to take a big, idiotic swing at it; surprisingly she had a firm grip at it, and the swing she took seemed so confident and skillful. She couldn't help the cocky smirk that crept up her face. Hell, yes.

She took a few more excitement, pumped swings with the sword, taking note of the worn signboard once more when she cut it off cleanly, leaving it to clatter onto the ground.

"Oops," she found herself blurting, setting the sword down delicately and reaching down to pick the signboard up, the signboard feeling prickly and rough at the touch. She could barely make out the few words etched onto it:

_Welcome to Wonderland, my dear Alice_

_Do wield the blade firmly in hand and_

_Seek out the path to becoming the true Alice._

_Craft out a world for me, and_

_Do nothing to stop at it._

_Good luck, my first Alice,_

_And enjoy your stay at Wonderland._

"Wonderland?" she wondered out loud, an eyebrow rising suspiciously. She suspected she was dreaming; she did dream of suspectfully odd dreams sometimes, although everything felt quite… real in this one (she must be damn well drunk). And what was with the "Wonderland" and the "Alice"? Was the signboard addressing her? That would mean that she was said "first Alice", and she was in this "Wonderland"… damn her it that made any sense. And "do wield the blade firmly in hand and seek out the path of becoming the true Alice"… what did that mean? It was like trying to get crap past the radar; hell if she knew what that meant. She fiddled around with the words, the only conclusions coming out that the person who created the signboard was asking of her to use the blade (that was obvious enough) and… find her way out of this "Wonderland" herself? Then what was that "true Alice" bit about? Her patience wavered, and she decided she would find out herself, one way or another.

An indentation on the signboard, caught her eye, and her carmine gaze shifted towards it; it depicted a face of sorts, if her intuition was to be trusted, and two empty holes as eyes and a scar, like marking running over the face's right eyes. She blinked, and stared; the marking stirred up a distant memory.

She could recall more, now; as she was stumbling around like a blundering fool, trying to get back home after her drinking fest, there was a figure approaching her steadily; or maybe it was just walking the opposite direction as her?

No, she was sure it was approaching her.

She remembered she was before her apartment already, fumbling through her coat pocket for keys – yes, it was a cold night, and this nice, brown-haired Harry Potter-wannabe - Kiyoteru, was it? - lent her the coat out of kindness, what a sweet man – when the dark figure loomed over her.

Despite her drunkedness, a chord of fear struck at her, but thanks to said drunkedness, her bold attitude persisted. "'Sup huh?" she had slurred, but the figure was silent.

She felt a firm grip upon her hand, and a hot, searing pain on the back of her right hand; everything lapsed into black, and she knew, because she was still conscious, and fully alert; and then she was falling, falling through the depths of the dark, falling and falling and –

Blank.

"If this is some sort of trick, this is not funny," the woman muttered. "Fine, I'll play along your stupid game." She pick up the fallen sword, confidence, already surging through her veins. She gave a big swing, the sword slicing through thin air. "I'm not scared of this Wonderland shit. Bring it!" With the sword wielded firmly in her confidence – brimming grasp, she headed towards the forest, determined to escape this so-called "Wonderland".

...

Forests were eerie enough, even without them being in dark, forsaken lands. Gee, so much for being a storybook land for little kiddies.

The brunette treaded through the forest carefully, shuffling through withered leaves and itch-inducing grass. The forest gave out an eerie vibe; it was dark, and the faint light from the sky did little help to eliminate the looming shadows. Her grip on the sword was tight, and she was fully alert, precautious of any danger that might approach her.

At some point, all the trees began to look the same, and she felt a little light-headed. That wasn't good. At that rate, she wouldn't be able to backtrack if she needed to. She decided to leave a trail of sorts is she wanted to go any further.

"The forests seems like it's trying to kick ma out, anyway," she said to herself to provide a comfort of accompaniment she did not have; the trees seemed to be more clustered, and she couldn't squeeze through.

"Damn it, you're the one who wants to keep me in the first place!" she roared, her patience finally snapping. With a deft swing, the sword sliced cleanly through the dreadful trees easily, bits of bark flying into the air –

And red splattering out of the bark.

She let out a cry, taking a few steps away as a stream of red burst out of the insides of the bark, splattering onto the ground. A metallic stench stung at her senses and nausea hit her hard; she convulsed, and fell onto her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach. She spot, trying to get rid of the sickly taste of bile in her mouth, as she clenched at her stomach painfully.

"U-Ugh…" she grunted, covering her mouth and nose in a futile attempt to fend of the sickly metallic stench of – of –

_– blood? –_

– the tree's red sap-or-whatever; how could there be so much of it? And the smell, oh, God, the smell, it was –

_– enticing –_

– horrible, it was so horrible; what kind of trees filled this forest? What kind of forest was this?

_What kind of world was this?_

After quite some time to steady herself – the smell of the sap was so strong – she stood up, holding her brown coat to her nose to prevent the overwhelming stench from reaching her. She stared at the sap with her eyebrows raised – it had spilled into a big blotch, looking like bright red paint, and was still flowing out of the few remains of the trees she had cut like bright red paint…

She bet she could detect it from miles away…

...

Cut.

Cut, cut, cut

The trees fell with ear-deafening crashes, the red blood-resembling sap spilling out as big splotches and staining the forest ground red. She loomed over the red stains, sword in hand, grinning deviously as she took in a deep breath, enticed by the stinging yet charming scent of the bleeding trees.

She knelt down, her raven dress stained an even darker tone by the fallen tree's blood, the white frills dyed into a mesmerizing crimson. She pressed her hands into the pool of blood, her sword beside her, long-since stained with rust–coloured beauty.

Yes… yes, this made a beautiful, beautiful blood-red path… she would never get lost, now, would she? Of course not. She stood, fetching her sword, and smiling wickedly to herself.

"Shall we make this path much longer?"

...

She hit a dead end when her sword would not budge.

"What the hell…" she mumbled to herself, setting a foot against the vines, thick and lush and hard, encircling the tree, and yanking hard; unfortunately, her actions did not help free the sword.

"– freaking get out of the damn vine already!" she snarled in rage, not giving in, until she yanked so hard she lost her grip on the sword and fell backwards, falling onto the red path she had laid out for herself painfully. She winced at the pain that had short through her, but that was of nothing. She stood up, her measely failure merely adding fuel to the flame within her, and she ran towards the sword –

- and the sword slithered away –

- no, no, wait, the vein? –

She halted within her tracks, dumbstruck, as the thick vine began to shift, as if it was slithering upwards like a big snake, taking her sword with it. Realisation hit her a few moments later, and with a "Hey!" she ran to the vine and leapt, grabbing hold of her sword. To her surprise, that little force shook the sword free, and with an audible snap the sword dislodged itself from the vine, along with he, and she fell all over again onto the floor, the sword descending with her –

- through her left palm and pinning her onto the forest floor –

She screamed, a blood-curdling scream, one that she found had no sound as the trees and the leaves looming overhead had her screams out. She found herself tearing up at all the pain, and when she wanted to move, more pain struck through her like the many chords of a piano, the blade digging deeper, so she resisted, lying on the cold red path, breathing heavily and awaiting the pain to numb away. But it did not, one by one chords of pain struck deep, deep within her, and she screamed, she screamed so hard. She felt her throat dry up and feel gritty, and warmth bubbled up her throat and she choked, but she could hear none of it. None of her pain, none of her agony.

None of it.

She was wearily aware of the snaking feeling around her limbs, and her eyes snapped open at the sudden stretching, yanking feeling, her gaze shifting over to her limbs, only to find that the sturdy vines had wrapped themselves firmly around her legs and left arm, the one grasping the right slowly snaking upwards. She screamed, soundlessly, tugging her limbs away and struggling, her right arm breaking free of the heinous grasp, but her struggling turned to be an effort going the wrong way – the grip on her legs were firm, too firm – she yanked her right leg hard, pumped by the desperate feeling she had, and she found her right leg dislodging from her body -

And she screamed -

And screamed -

But nothing could be done to ward away the dread.

She was suddenly aware of the cold liquid seeping out of her, unforgivingly, like the blood that gushed out of the dead trees, and her mind went blank, expect for one gradually surfacing thought:

_When have I become so cold-blooded?_

When? When had she lost grasp upon her humanity?

She thought back to the time she picked up the sword, surging with confidence, and when she had robbed the lives of the many beings that dwelled within the forest, just to leave behind a "blood-red path" –

She was leaving behind what was of her, as well.

When? Why had she become so blood-thirsty? Mercilessly cutting down tree by tree, savouring the blood of the life around her? Truth by truth struck at her, cold and unforgiving as her owns actions.

The tears cascaded down her face; the truth of her actions tore at her harder than the vines, the pain stronger than her slowly increasing wounds. By now all the veins yanked at her furiously, as if each one was desperate for her blood, desperate to rip her into shreds, just as the way she was before.

As the veins crowded over her, shrouding away the sight of the welcoming, sick sky. She reached a hand out, wanting to grasp at the dim light, and the spade behind her palm sheered at her. As a vine slithered around her neck, grasping greedily at her jaw, she heard a voice. For a moment, hope toyed at her, and she was filled with the thought of being rescued, but it soon registered that the voice was nothing of the sort; it brimmed with spite, with malice, yet it wasn't angry, it was…

…joyful.

"_The first Alice bravely entered Wonderland, sword in hand._

_Cutting down countless creatures, she left a bright red path in her wake._

_That Alice is in the forest,_

_Locked away like a criminal._

_Aside from the path she made in the forest,_

_There is no sign that she existed."_

Her hand gingerly clenched at the small light, but she merely grasped at false hope; her mouth opened, and she let out a scream.

The last she would make -

"Help!"

But there was no sound.

...

It stared at the body of the once-alive human, her body in disarray, blood pooling greatly. It tipped its head to the side, the emotion "curiousity" pulling at her. This Alice had a tragic fate, indeed, it thought, the gesture "smile" being used by it once more.

It knelt down beside the tragic creature, and it whispered, in a hushed tone, "Your heart was taken away by the dark and the power gifted to you by the sword. You failed to contain the empty desire, and soon your heart turned into a pitless void, devouring anything that came in your way…" It picked up the human's right hand, marveling the black marking, still prominent in the midst of red.

It performed that gesture – smile! – once more, then brought the hand up to its nose, inhaling its marvelous smell, drowning within it.

And it extended it's mouth, biting down.

"It's only right you ceased to exist, along all those you killed."

...

_"Breaking news. 26-year-old Sakine Meiko was found today in a disclosed forest by a couple, who both stated they were passing by when they saw a trail of blood leading into the forest. Sakine's body was horribly mutilated, and the only form of evidence comes from a playing card inserted into her mouth, presumably by the preperator, with the word 'Alice' written on its surface with Sakine's blood..."_

* * *

A/N: Nnh... I'll revise it later, promise...

If you haven't noticed yet, the dream is actually based on a Vocaloid character. Feel free to guess, but the answer will only be revealed (in-story) on the third chapter.

Soooo, how was it? Was it scary enough? Too gory? Horrifying? Not-at-all? What-in-the-world-is-wrong-with-your-brain? Leave a review with your thoughts! Criticism needed.

And, as always, thanks for reading :D

Next Chapter: Time for the next Alice to come and play...


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